


he always helps

by dazeah



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood and Injury, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Injured Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, One Shot, Vomiting, it can be a character death if you feel its a character death, or you can hope he’s alive lmao, the ending can be put however you want it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 04:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazeah/pseuds/dazeah
Summary: lance isn’t having a good day and neither is keith. actually no one is.





	he always helps

**Author's Note:**

> i got mega bored

He didn't understand what was going on. It was out of the sake that he simply couldn't; his head spun in multiple directions in irrevocable blossoming flowers of dizziness. His head throbbed sharply, piercing through his thoughts and abruptly scrambling them around. 

He groaned, brushing off the nausea that settled deep in his stomach; twitching and turning with every movement, and used his elbows to try and hoist himself up from the overwhelming coolness that boundlessly seeped into the ground.

Tried. 

He released a gentle puff of air when his elbows gave; unable to hold his weight and promptly fell back to the floor. The freezing cold floor. The floor that he practically despised at this point.  But that gentle puff quickly tapered into a pained whimper and that 'freezing cold' floor burned aflame whenever he jostled his head just a little too much (that was definitely a concussion) and surfaced a new, nearly unbearable pain in his stomach that burned his throat with bile. Damn, did it hurt. He clutched tightly at his stomach, and with a mixture of a moan and a whimper, he somewhat managed to lay in some kind of 'fetal position'. 

The movement sent a huge whiff of smell to his senses; a metallic scent filling his nose. And oh god, he knew that smell. 

He knew it would be a bad decision right as he did it. He knew he wasn’t going to take it well, but his urges beat him to his senses. Lance lifted a shaky hand to his eyes and was met with a scarlet liquid that caked between his fingers and weaved it’s way under his nails and almost immediately he felt bile travel up his throat and into his mouth, burning as it came up. 

He choked and shuddered as he emptied his stomachs contents, barely able to keep it from soaking his hair. Each retch nagged at his stomach and left him groaning in pain and god, he felt drained.

He was pulled in and out of consciousness, the world around him being warped into what seemed to look like some kind of bizarre black hole. It was overall unsettling, making his heart race with thoughts like "How the hell am I going to make it out of this alive?" and "I don't wanna be alone." He was alone in this unnerving darkness, except for some kind of comforting, yet blinding light that lied directly in the middle of this mess he called some scribble of colors.

He stared into that limitless light, briefly being reminded of the beach that he held so dear to his heart. The memories of him and his family bathing in a hot pool of sunlight flowed down in rivers to the deepest point of his heart, stinging with each drop, and then slowly raised to the peak of his eyes in the form of tears. His heart wrung out deep in his chest.

God, he missed his family. He just wanted his family.

He remembered his mother promptly scolding him on the fact that the possibility of him going blind was going to dramatically grow higher if he continued on with that strange way he stared into the sun. Not that his chances were even high in the first place. He nearly giggled through his battered state at the thought of his mothers concerned, yet kind expression. 

He missed her and would risk anything to be reminded of his mothers smile that seemed to be slipping through his finger tips each second passing. He closed his eyes tightly, tears already flowing in thick streams down to the floor beneath him. Please just give it back. Don't leave me.

Lance faced the bright light once again, seeking the warmth of his mothers embrace. The light was the only thing grounding him at this moment. 

He knew this wasn't the time to be getting homesick. He had a job to do. Although, he wasn't sure he could even do the job right now. He had to protect the universe— protect his team. They needed him. The whole fucking universe needed him. 

All nostalgia was roughly washed away whenever a silhouette gracefully shielded Lance from the flashy rays of light that once threatened to stab holes in his sight. He let out a sob of despair, wanting the light to come back— his mom to just come back. The sobs tugged endlessly at his stomach, but he didn't care— he couldn't care. No kind of physical pain could be even close to equivalent with the pain he felt in his heart. 

He needed this darkness to move. To let him see his mother again. 

Let me see her, let me see her, let me see her, let me see her, let me—  

A hand— An oh-so-warm hand nagged at his shoulder. "Lance? Buddy?" A voice traveled through his ears and desperately tried to scope out a meaning; wrapping itself around wrong parts and wrong definitions. "Lance? You there? It's gonna be okay." Still, he couldn't quite comprehend what the jumbled up figure was saying, other than a slight ring of some kind of distress. His senses couldn't quite grasp anything other than the undeniable warmth that clang to his shoulder. It grounded him. Made him feel safe. 

Who was this person again? Was he important to this person? Was this person family?

"Mamá..." His lips were hardly able to fit around the word, his tongue allowing only one word to pass until it decided to jumble the rest of an unidentified sentence into a whimpering, mumbling mess. 

His mind fogged over with sleepiness, along with his thoughts that had swam down to the bottom of his mind; the only thought remaining being sleep. Just the thought of falling into a deep sleep had seemed like a dream to him. More than a dream. Heaven. He could close his eyes and slowly drift into the fantasies of being with his family again in heaven and be able to sleep until his injuries healed and he finally felt a need to wake. But, with the tiredness he felt now, he doubted the chance of himself waking again. And that'd be okay.

He fluttered his eyes closed, in attempt to fulfill his own needs. 

"Lance! Don't close your eyes!" 

But, there was that voice. 

"Hey!" 

That voice that cleaved tightly to his consciousness. 

"Stay with me." 

The way it rang with familiarity; a familiarity he had been longing for.

Keith?

He desperately lifted a hand, searching for something he couldn't quite find. He wanted relief. Relief from all this pain and Keith could help. He always helps. 

Keith. 

He needed to find him. He had to find him. A wish his heart gravely clang to, was to be held in someones arms; to have fingers running through his hair, his back rubbed in a comfortable and soothing pattern. Maybe Keith would be up to handling his greasy, bloody hair and his lanky, sweaty body. Keith could take the pain away. This agonizing pain.

"K..Keith.." He hated the way his voice cracked. His mom would be ashamed. His team would be ashamed. Keith would be ashamed.

He hadn't fully processed when the warmth from his shoulder faded and his hand made way to the others before it squeezed his tight. He was losing his senses and fast.

The warmth that weaved between his fingers was soothing, but it came along with a very, very unexpected wave of utter fear and panic. 

He hadn't realized how hard it had been to breathe until panic pulled him into really needing to; his chest rising and falling in sharp gasps. 

Lance's vision grew darker and darker, leaving what left of his vision, dotted and swirled into a jungle of mess. 

No, no, no. 

He had to stay for Keith. He had to stay awake. Those sorrowful cries for him to just for fucks sake stay awake grew on him— grew in his heart. It dug deeper with each passing second with sharp ripples of pain. Ripping his hope and will to live into shreds along with it. This isn’t how he wanted to die. 

He couldn't do it anymore. It hurt. He was scared. If he could just fall in a pit of dreams and peace, everything could grow to be so much better. He thought maybe he needed some rest, and maybe with that rest, he could wake up to a better day. His team would fix him, awake or not.

He trusted Keith. Keith would take care of him. 

And the darkness was, by far, the best gift he had ever received.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! i suck at updating so don’t get too excited. ( i swear at some point, if even a year, ill update ) you can chat with me on instagram @dazearrt or on tumblr @dazemf if u have any questions or if u just wanna say hi!!
> 
> EDIT: i honestly think that this would be a lot better if i left it as a one shot— so i decided to keep it one chapter,, you can put the ending however you want it lmao


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